An Unorthodox Approach
by blommabelle
Summary: Russia decides to take France's friendship advice and is beyond surprised with the unexpected results that come from it. Features fem!America. Russia/fem!America.


There's that episode, you know the one, where Russia sends a letter to France asking for advice to make friends. This story involves Russia trying out France's terrible, terrible advice.

* * *

France's advice kept spinning in Russia's mind. He wasn't sure if it would actually work, but France was pretty popular. Really, Russia could use more friends. Who was he to question France's methods, as unorthodox as they might seem?

He was mulling it over before one of the many meetings he had to go to. Glancing up from where he sat, silent and alone, he spotted America sitting nearby on the tabletop, teasingly poking England between his eyebrows and laughing about something. England looked pissed at whatever it was she was laughing about and scooted away.

Unperturbed, America just kept laughing. Over the years, Russia and America had not gotten along in the least. Now that the Soviet Union had fallen, she hadn't been so mean. In fact, she had been strangely nice to him. He watched her carefully as she scooted over to England and started to say something he was attempting to ignore.

Without further hesitation, Russia stood and walked over, stopping right next to America. Feeling a new presence, both America and England turned to look at him. While England looked uneasy, America simply cocked her head to the side.

"Russia, dude. What's up?"

Russia gave her the nicest smile he could manage and hoped that France's advice was going to work. "Hello, Amerika. I was just wondering if you would like to bear my children."

America's mouth fell open into a perfect "O" as she stared at him with wide eyes. England looked about ready to faint or start screaming profanities. Several countries that had been nearby to overhear him either burst into shocked laughter or slunk back, fearful of America's response.

When America finally seemed to register his request, she got off the table and gave him a hard glare. "What _the hell_, Russia! Where the hell do you get off asking me something like that?"

As Russia suspected, France's advice did not work. But America suddenly grabbed his arm and excused them, angrily yanking him out of the conference room. Russia sent France a look as he was carted out, promising severe bloodshed despite the fact that France was unaware that Russia had said what he had said under his advice.

A few chuckles and gasps of "Oh my God, did that really just happen?!" followed them out as America slammed the doors behind them. She yanked him into an empty meeting room. Slamming that door shut, she turned and leveled a glare at him.

"Okay, what the hell was that about?" she snapped, tapping a foot impatiently. "I thought we were starting to get along finally, Russia!"

Russia sighed, realizing he had a big mess to clean up ahead of him. That's what he got for taking advice from that frog-eating idiot. "I apologize, Amerika. I didn't mean to-"

"To what?" She stomped her foot. "To make a scene? Because believe me, we'll never hear the end of this!"

"I realize that." Russia rubbed his temples. "I'm afraid I got advice from the wrong person. I was just trying to-"

"Seriously? Who the hell would tell you to…" America trailed off and then groaned. "Oh, Jesus. It was France, wasn't it? That perv!"

"It was." Russia frowned. "But I didn't mean for it to be taken like that, I just wanted to be-"

"I mean, I can understand wanting to date me," America went on, no longer as angry looking. "Just _look_ at me!"

After a few seconds and some annoyance, Russia did just that. As always, her outfit left very little to the imagination, revealing not only cleavage and legs, but her navel as well. She had a nice figure-thin in all the right places, curvy in all the right places. Sunkissed skin, bright blue eyes and chin-length blonde hair that fell wildly around her face. For the first time in a very, very long time, Russia admitted that America was actually very beautiful.

Too bad she had to go ruin things by talking.

"Not that I blame you for wanting to get with this," she was saying. "But you come on _way_ too strong."

"I didn't mean-"

"I bet France said I would be a good choice to have your massive babies," she grumbled. "He was probably talking about how I have perfect birthing hips, huh?"

"But I don't… if you would just listen…"

"And I would make a great mother." America sighed. "I raised fifty kids, after all, and after England's terrible parenting skills, I know exactly what _not_ to do. I have to admit, you have good taste, dude."

Russia gave up and slumped his shoulders. "I am sorry for embarrassing you, Amerika. I was misinformed as to how to approach someone on such a matter."

America studied him for a few moments and then smiled, stepping a little closer to him. "Wanna freak them all out?"

Frowning, Russia stared at her curiously, unsure of what she was getting at until she fisted his shirt and, without warning, yanked him forward, pressing her lips roughly against his. He was so shocked that he didn't respond for a few long moments until her hands tangled in his hair. The small yank she gave suddenly made something in his mind kind of fizzle out and another part of his mind stirred. Despite still having some personal issues with America, he _was_ still a man with all the functioning man parts. Which meant that because a pretty girl was eagerly kissing him, he was definitely going to kiss back.

Apparently surprised at his enthusiastic response, America angled her head to deepen the kiss. Russia slid his tongue against her bottom lip, silently asking for permission. She gladly allowed it, opening her mouth up enough to let him slip his tongue inside. While their tongues fought for control, Russia pulled America closer until their bodies were practically molded together. His mind was swirling and behind his closed eyes, he could see sparks coming to life.

He had kissed people before, yes. But he had never been kissed back with so much enthusiasm before. It felt like there were little fires coming to life inside of him and making everything in his mind come to life. He could feel warmth and see endless prairies and sunny beaches. He could see ferris wheels and busy streets and people happily talking to each other as they took summertime walks, enjoying the sunshine and each other. He could feel those sparks explode inside of him, filling him up and bringing him to life.

Russia was so lost in it, so lost in America, and apparently America was feeling the same way because neither of them noticed the door open or the gasp.

"Oh, bloody hell!"

_That_, they heard. But even still, it took them a moment to pull away from each other. Russia glared at their interruption-damn England. Standing beside him was France, giving them a smug little smile. He winked when Russia met his eyes briefly.

"Would you at least have the decency to step away from each other?" England snapped.

Russia frowned and realized that while they had been kissing, they had found themselves on the floor with America underneath him. Wait, how had his coat gotten off? And when had she put a hand underneath his shirt? And when had both his hands gone underneath _her_ shirt?

Even still, he was reluctant to get off of her. After being touched like that, Russia wasn't sure he could ever live without it. America stood, smiling sheepishly but not exactly looking embarrassed.

"You two couldn't even wait for a few hours before trying to procreate?" England snapped. He shook his head, making a face. "In any case, the meeting's started. Get yourselves looking presentable."

America picked up Russia's coat and offered it to him. He put it on and noticed that America didn't bother trying to fix her hair. She did smooth out her clothes a bit and and winked at him as they followed France and England out.

"Hey, Ivan," she said just before they walked into the meeting. She smirked when he blushed upon hearing his human name. "Did you feel it? When we kissed?"

France glanced back at them curiously and the back of England's neck turned red.

"Feel what… Amelia?"

She smiled. "The fireworks."


End file.
